Sunlight and Shadows
by Cruellae
Summary: This is based on the epilogue from Awakenings, where the Warden goes to Antiva to find Zevran. Spoilers for Awakenings and Origins. M rated eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Zevran knew he was being followed. So when he reached the door of his apartment, he said rather regretfully to the full bosomed beauty on his arm,

"Not tonight, my love. I believe I may find another Crow in my closet tonight, and I would not have your lovely skin splashed in blood."

The woman pouted. She was a generously endowed woman, wearing a dress that would have been scandalous in Ferelden, but was standard attire in Antiva, and not just for the prostitutes.

"Smile," said Zevran, kissing her forehead. "I would not see you off with such an ugly expression on those luscious lips of yours. I will find you tomorrow, my dear, and it will be so much better for the waiting."

The woman giggled, in a way that would be coquettish was her posture not so loose and open.

Zevran waited for her to turn the corner, than looked out at the street. There were several places an assassin might hide from sight, but they would certainly remain in earshot.

"Please, do come in," he said, to the deceptively empty street. "I find myself in want of company before you attempt to kill me."

Out of the shadows materialized a thin elven woman in dark gray leathers. Dark hair hung to her shoulders and fell across her brow, which was marked with intricate brown lines. A face to intense to be pretty, full lips frowning slightly, a nose too sharp, and eyes that said little but measured everything.

Zevran was silent for a moment, and Eve took pleasure in the shock in his eyes. His feathers were notoriously difficult to ruffle.

He let his eyes travel over that face, wondering how she had ever managed to enter the city without his knowledge. She looked so out of place in her drab armor, hair free and disheveled, that he should have noticed the moment she wandered into Antiva. She used to be so insecure in cities, her feet hesitant and stumbling on the cobblestones, but now…well, she had evaded his notice for who knows how long, had even managed to track him to his home.

"Come in, my dear Warden," he said.

Zevran's home was small but well furnished. A thick rug made from the hide of some exotic animal sprawled before a generous hearth. Everywhere, there were cushions, and the walls bore thick velvet tapestries. Zevran lit a few candles, which threw everything in the room into soft golden relief. It was a home that suited him, a home made for seduction, where everything was soft and sensual and expensive.

Eve did not fit. Her severe face and battered armor made her a stranger in these walls. Had she always been so foreign, Zevran wondered, or had she changed so much in the few years they'd been apart.

Well, he would not allow her to make him awkward within his own home. He sat on a couch covered with cushions, sprawling across it like a cat, all languid muscles that could spring into taut action at any instant.

"What brings the great Commander of the Grey to my humble Antiva?" he asked her. She looked at him. Those eyes were so solemn, had they always been that way?

"Business? Pleasure? A little of both?" he continued.

"I'm not the Commander of the Grey any longer," she said. It was the first thing she'd said to him, and he was relieved that her voice was the same, soft but firm, like steel covered with a layer of silk. If people did not read the subtle power in that voice, they might press into the silk and find that underneath it she was cold and unyielding. He had seen it happen.

"Oh?" he said. Now that she'd said something, he felt a little less uneasy. "Then what brings you here?"

"You," she said. It was all she said. Then those eyes turned on him again, and he felt uneasy. He was not in control of the situation, of her. She was like the Brecilian Forest, beautiful but so strange and deadly.

"You came all this way for me, dear Warden," he said. "Surely you could have found a man in Ferelden to warm your bed."

"You left," she said. It occurred to him that she was not angry, and this seemed strange. She had cared for him a great deal, or so it seemed at the time.

"You wish me to explain?" This made sense. A spurned lover, left behind, seeking him again. That tale he could understand.

She cocked her head slightly to the left. She sat, timidly, on a plush chair, after removing a few cushions. She nodded at him.

"I'm afraid I have no good reason, my dear. It was simply time for me to move on."

She looked at him, eyes gentle, questioning. Was it a lie?

Zevran himself did not know.


	2. Chapter 2

After they'd defeated the werewolves, braved a haunted temple and ended the curse on the Dalish and the humans, Zevran and Eve sat in the Brecilian forest, along the skipping, singing stream, the wind and leaves whispering secrets to the Dalish elf that Zevran could never hope to know. She read the movement of the trees, gazed into the undergrowth with the type of revenant attention Zevran reserved for particularly beautiful lovers. At this point the warden was neither. She wanted him—Zevran could see the intensity in her eyes when she looked at him, the way the brown irises darkened to black. But something held her back.

He had hoped, when she dragged him alone into the now peaceful forest, that seduction was on her mind, but she had simply led him to this hidden clearing and sat with him, staring into the leaves as though she were alone.

"You are like this forest," he told her. She turned to face him, full attention on his lips.

"You are as lovely, and as mysterious. And who can say what beasts lurk within your depths, hmm?"

She smiled then. She found this piece of flattery surprisingly apt.

"I have something for you," she said, and grinned. She looked so young with an eager smile in the place of her usual pensive scowl.

"Gloves?" said Zevran, unwrapping the small package she'd handed him. "You're giving me gloves?"

She supplied all her team with armor and weapons, but distributed them as a matter of business, not as gifts with a giddy smile.

"They're Dalish," she said. "Like your mother's".

He tried to seduce her then, to repay her for the gift in the only currency he possessed, but she just glanced towards the Dalish camp with a loneliness and weariness he'd not seen in her before. It killed them mood.

To the Dalish, the act of love was no trifling thing, but a sacred act, meant to bind two elves together for life. Of course, not all Dalish thought this way, but to many the idea of casual sex was strange and uncomfortable. Eve could not blame or judge Zevran for his dalliances, but as much as she might like to, she could not dally with him and remain untouched.

But in the darkness of the Deep Roads she began to understand what it was to be a Grey Warden, and a lifetime of regret did not seem so grave when her life looked to be short indeed.

The air was stale and empty, devoid of any odor save darkspawn stink. So long away from the sun and moon and any living thing—she thought she might go mad. In that desolation, Zevran seemed like the golden-skinned sun, his breath a forest breeze against her lips. He was her connection to life and to light in that non-place, and she gave herself over to him completely.

He had never met a woman who made sex seem so profound, so real and necessary that it became not an escape from life but a vital and integral part of it. She did not reveal herself to him, as so many lovers had, in little bits and pieces, subtle slipping of a mask, but all at once and without reservation. He was her first, of that he was certain, for she could not be so present and so vibrant had she been hurt before. He would have envied her—the joy she took from sex surpassed even his own—but he knew that such joy without caution meant death.

At night, after he had made love to her and returned to his tent, he would take out his gloves, the Dalish ones, and stare at them, tracing the stitching and daydreaming, as he had when he was a child living among whores. Only now he daydreamed of her—that she might take him home with her, home to her people who could be his people too if only he weren't…

And then he'd put away the gloves. Such fantasies were foolish, such fancies lead to death, and Zevran did nothing if not survive. But he would always pull them out again, another night, when she took watch or conferred with Alistair about where to go next, and he would trace the elaborate embroidery and imagine he was someone she might love somewhere she might call home.


	3. Chapter 3

They sat in the kind of silence only people who have faced death together can share. He thinking of the forest and she of the desperation of the Deep Roads.

"What about the Wardens?" he asked. "What about your duty?"

"I will always be a Warden," she said, "but I have sacrificed enough for them. I have no duty left save my Calling, and that is many years away."

Zevran could feel the bitterness in her tone, grim and firm. The softness of her voice could not hide it. He wondered what it was she had sacrificed for the Wardens, what cruelty in the name of the greater good had pushed her over the edge, for he had seen her do a great many ruthless and heartless things in service of the Wardens, and never once had her duty faltered.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. She sat straight, as though her back were not flesh but steel, and met his eyes, but her weariness showed all the same.

"Why have you come to Antiva?" he returned to the question. "What is it you want with me?"

"I miss you," she said.

"And I have missed you," he replied, a bit of tenderness in response to her sudden vulnerability.

A knock at the door interrupted what might have become a gentle and sweet reunion. Before Zevran could stand to answer it, Eve had faded into the shadows so completely even his keen eyes could not make out her form.

A handsome young human, all bronze skin and sandy hair, stood in the doorway.

"Lei," said Zevran. "What brings you here?"

Lei stepped inside in a way that made it obvious he had been there many times before. "I need a reason to see you?" he said. He wasted no time wrapping a hand around Zevran's waist and leaning down to the elf's mouth. Zevran leaned into the kiss, thinking, '_let her see now, that I have a life and loves enough without her'._

But one passionate kiss was enough, and afterwards Zev murmured something into his lover's ear about later and work to do, and led him to the door. Eve slipped out after the human, almost quickly enough, but Zevran noticed her movement.

Eve knew she was foolish. But that did not stop her from sneaking up behind Lei and stopping him with a hand on his tanned chest and a knife against his throat. She whispered in his ear just as Zevran had.

"If you touch Zevran again, dirty shem," she said, voice soft and gentle, "he will be your last."

She released the knife, and faded into the shadows, and Lei scurried down the street, not daring to look back.

Zevran smiled from his doorway.

"That was rather rude, my dear," he said. "There is more than enough of me to go around."

Her cheeks flushed, the heat going straight to her head. She was no fool and yet Zevran was making her one, making her crazy. He leaned against the doorframe, grinning. She climbed the wall closest to her and scurried across the rooftop into the growing evening shadows. Zevran thought of chasing her, but decided she would soon return on her own. He would not forgive her for threatening Lei so quickly; the boy was a quick study and a voracious lover who would almost certainly not darken Zevran's doorway again.

Lei was a young Crow, one of several sent to Zevran over the years for training in both love and death. Since he had rejoined the Crows, he had, to his great surprise, found himself rising through the ranks rather rapidly.

Coming back to the Crows had been surprisingly easy. Zevran had walked into their headquarters, a building grand enough for a monarch, since the Crows held as least as much power. Perhaps the shock of seeing Zevran Aranai walking unafraid through their hallways had been enough to keep stray blades at bay, and somehow he had made it to the office of his old master.

Master Arrael had smiled at him. "Zevran," he said, arms open, "you've returned to us."

"It is good to be back," said Zevran.

"I would love to have you back at work," said the master, "but there is still the pesky matter of your last contract. You never did kill the Warden, or so I hear."

"Indeed," said Zevran. "She is royally tough to kill. But you will notice that she has not managed to kill me either. Surely that says something."

Arrael had laughed then, as he'd laughed when he'd reminded Zevran how expendable he was, and Zevran both despised and admired that laugh.

"Fair enough," he said. "Fair enough. Your chance at the Warden may come again someday. But for now, welcome back to Antiva!"

It was home and not home to Zevran, the familiar smells of spice and leather, the relentless sun casting everything in glorious, opulent gold. There were beautiful women and men too eager to jump in his bed, and as he rose through the Crows, more gold than he could spend. And he could spend quite a lot.

He did not take out the Dalish gloves, but he could not bear to part with them either, so they sat in the dark and dust of a closet while Zevran took his pleasures where he could and wondered why they did not satisfy him.


	4. Chapter 4

Zevran and Eve lay together in one of the big fluffy beds in Redcliffe castle. Tomorrow they would march to Denerim and face an archdemon.

And yet, it was not thoughts of the great black dragon or their probable deaths that kept Zevran awake. It was the possibility of survival.

"I have a question, my dear Warden," he said.

"Hmmm?" she responded.

"I was wondering what you intend to do with me once this is all over. Once my oath to you is fulfilled."

"I would not hold you to that oat even now," she said. "You are and will always be free to do as you wish."

"And if I should wish to stay by your side? The Crows will eventually come again."

"I will protect you," she said. "And even if they never come for you, I could always use a friend by my side."

A friend, he thought. How very strange and novel.

"As could I," he said.

They lay in silence for a while, and then Zevran spoke again, as casually as he could.

"So where would we go? The two of us, I mean. After the battle."

"I would like to return to my clan. And then perhaps travel. I've never seen the sea, and I hear it is beautiful."

"That sounds lovely," he said. "Now I very much hope we will survive tomorrow."

"My clan," she said, falling asleep, "they will love you."

The archdemon had not lain dead for long when Alistair left for Amaranthine to rebuild the Wardens. Eve bid him goodbye, certain that the Orlesian Wardens waiting in Amaranthine would help him. She and Zevran prepared to travel, to seek out her clan.

On the day they planned to leave, Zevran rose with the sunrise, a sort of glee bubbling in his chest. For once he let it come, let the emotions fill him until it seemed impossible to lie still. H climbed out of the palace window and onto the roof, deftly perching there to watch the sun rise.

So he was the first to see Alistair's messenger arrive. The young man, wearing the colors of Vigil's Keep, ran through the courtyard like an army of darkspawn was nipping at his heels. It was only when he reached the door that he stopped to explain to the guards that he must speak to the Gray Warden immediately.

Zevran waited outside Eve's window, blades drawn. The messenger did not seem dangerous, but he was nothing if not cautious.

"Sit," Eve said to the breathless messenger. She was still in her nightclothes, a worn dress beautifully hand woven in shades of brown and green, one of the few reminders of her Dalish blood.

"I have a message from the Warden Alistair," he said.

"Is Alistair okay?" she asked.

"He's fine," said the messenger, "But the Grey Wardens from Orlais are not."

"What happened?"

"There was a darkspawn attack. They're all dead. Alistair is the only Warden left in Amaranthine."

"I see," said Eve. Her voice was much quieter than normal; Zevran had to strain to hear it.

He swung through the window back into the room as soon as the messenger left. Eve was not surprised to see the rogue flying through the window. She just looked at him, guilt and sadness in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But I have to go to Amaranthine."

In the calm and logical part of Zevran's head, he understood. The duty of saving the world could not be left to Alistair alone. But what came out of his mouth were the ugly words of a rejected child.

"I should have known," he said. "Being a Warden, this is all that matters to you, yes?"

"You know that's not true," she said. She wanted to cry, to beg his forgiveness, and if she had, he might have stayed. But she had made her choice and she would take whatever punishment he wished to inflict on her. She held her head high, and did not burden him with her own sadness, her own regrets.

But she never thought he'd leave.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun set and rose again on Antiva before Eve had gathered and calmed herself enough to return to Zevran. She knocked on his door, but there was no answer. She tried it and found it unlocked. She took a step inside and halted.

The apartment was a mess. One of the couches was overturned, and the luscious reddish brown rug had bootprints clearly visible. Blood spattered the floor and one wall. A fight had clearly taken place here.

Eve studied the room, giving it the same solemn attention she would to a forest scene. Then she set off again.

It was not difficult to find the headquarters of the Crows. It was a place worthy of a monarch, perhaps because the Crows held just as much power. It was a white marble building that acquired a gold sheen in the afternoon sunlight. It spoke of opulence and arrogance, a large fountain out front with a statue of a black bird holding a dagger in its beak. _Subtle_, thought Eve.

She walked through the great door arch, her head held high, back straight, as though a steel rod aligned itself from waist to crown. The guards let her pass. A tall man in simple black robes made of an expensive silk stopped her.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. He thought she might be a tourist, she was clearly not Antivan, but there was something about her manner that suggested purpose and strength.

"I am the Grey Warden," she said. "I believe you have something of mine."

"Ah, you seek Zevran," he said, understanding at once. "He is in the training room." He gestured to his right.

Eve walked down a long hallway into a room that in a normal palace would be a grand ballroom or feasting hall. In the palace of the Crows, it was a training room. The floor was sandy, with large straw mats. Several apprentices sparred in the corners, and along one wall, two masters watched as apprentices practiced on training dummies.

Her eyes immediately sought Zevran, who stood near a young woman, instructing her in the ways of the dagger by whispering into her ear and letting his fingertips run along her arm.

The Crows fell silent as Eve walked into the center of the room. Zevran turned. His eyes registered no surprise.

"I wondered when you might show up," he said.

Eve said nothing.

"These are my colleagues," he said. "Crows, this is the Grey Warden."

Eve nodded.

"You risk much by walking into the lair of the Crows," said one of the masters, also in black silk.

"I came for you," she said to Zevran. She ignored the others, who watched her expectantly.

Zevran's master entered the room.

"Ah, it is the Warden" he said. "I have wanted to meet the woman who bested the great Zevran Aranai."

Eve ignored him.

He spoke then to Zevran. "I believe there is still the matter of your contract. Now would be a good time to prove your competence, no?"

Zevran looked from the Crows to the Warden and made his choice.

"Master Arrael has a good point," he said. "I'm afraid I am duty bound to try again."

Survival, then, not love.

"Then draw your weapons, Crow," said Eve. She showed no emotion, but the quick and silvery movement of her daggers from their sheaths to her hands had the same effect as bared teeth.

Zevran did the same, and they began to circle each other.

It was a battle for the ages. For the second time Zevran saw his death in the solemn face of the Warden, and for the second time, he laughed. A murder of Crows watched but did not intervene.

Eve lunged first. It gave Zevran the advantage, and he was quick to retaliate, drawing blood from her upper arm. But within the blink of an eye she started to fade, in and out of his vision, as though she were dancing between the real world and the Fade, though he knew such a thing was impossible.

He went low, she went high, and she was cut again, on her lower calf. They danced together, for a time no more deadly then when they used to spar together. They were and had always been evenly matched. Until suddenly Eve threw down a smoke bomb, and vanished. In the cloud of stinging smoke, Zevran could just make out the outline of a woman. He lunged at it, and Eve appeared behind him, knocking him to his feet. She pulled out another dagger, a strange silver one of Dwarven make. It was covered with a sticky green poison he almost recognized. Before he could struggle or grab his blades, she plunged the dagger into his chest.

He watched her eyes, trying to find some pity, some regret, but there was no emotion there. The irony struck him—he must be feeling as Rinna felt, for he had not believed this woman could truly harm him.

The blade did not hurt going in, the strange green poison must have numbed the wound. Blood oozed from it, and Zevran thought it strange that the blood oozed, rather than gushed. He reached up to touch the Warden's lips, unsure. Then he closed his eyes.

Eve lifted his limp body over her shoulder. She glanced at no one as she headed for the door, Zevran's blood mixing with her own as it ran down her armor. The Crows watched her go. None dared stop her.


	6. Chapter 6

Zevran awoke in a clearing. The sunlight fell in shafts the size of gold coins through the leaves above him. He was laying on a woven blanket that he immediately recognized, it was Dalish make and had always adorned Eve's bedroll.

_Is this the Fade?_ he wondered.

Eve entered the clearing, carrying a bucket of water, and Zevran knew he was alive because the relief he felt was so overpowering it could not happen to a dead man.

Eve dipped a cup in the water and handed it to him.

"Drink," she said. Zevran found he was parched, and drank it quickly.

"I rather thought I would wake up dead," he said. "or not wake up at all."

They both smiled, remembering the first time he'd said that, on the dusty road between Denerim and Redcliffe, waking up at her feet and scowling face high above him.

"How did you…" he began, and she grinned. It was rare she could outfox him, but she had. She took the dagger out from her pack.

"Watch," she said. She ran her thumb along the handle and with that swift movement, half the blade disappeared into the handle.

"A retractable blade," he said. "Clever, indeed. But you poisoned me too."

"You are the master poisoner," she said. "You should know what I used."

He thought for a minute, and then it hit him. The sticky green poison, it was the strange Dalish health poultice she'd always made.

"Only you would coat a dagger with a health poultice, my dear," he said, grinning.

"I didn't want to leave a scar," she said. "I know how vain you are."

"You wound me," he said. "I would wear a scar in a most enticing fashion. Women love a man with scars, you know."

Eve moved closer, her face suddenly serious.

"I would never hurt you," she said. "You know that."

Zevran leaned forward then, and kissed her, for the first time in nearly a year. It was relief and joy, that she had not betrayed him, would not betray him.

She kissed him back, as passionate as he'd ever seen her.

When they broke apart she said, breathless,

"I have missed you."

It was an admission wrenched from her. She did not wish Zevran to know how much she needed him by her side, what those months in Amaranthine had done to her, not knowing if he was alive or dead, if he would return, if she would ever see him again.

"And I you," he said.

They sat together for a while, leaning into each others' arms, neither wanting to break the silence, the contentment.

Eve was the first to pull away. She looked at him, her head cocked to one side, eyes wide and solemn and so dark.

"What will you do now?" she asked.

"I don't know. I suppose I need not return to the Crows, if your ploy truly fooled them."

"The choice is not between me and the Crows," she said. "Your choice is not between me and anything. I will follow you wherever it is you choose to go, even if it is to return to them."

"You are a forest flower, my dear," he said. "You would wilt in the heat of the city."

"Then where?" she said.

_If I am a dead man_, thought Zevran, having died twice already, _I have nothing left to lose._

"Let us go home," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

What Zevran remembered about his early travels with Eve was want. The wanting of her, so powerful and pervasive, it was unlike any he'd felt before.

Not that he did not lust after many women—he did, but with her it was different. He was powerless in the face of his hunger, in the grips of whatever spell she'd unknowingly cast. He was used to women who worked to cast such an enchantment, who giggled and licked their lips at the right moment and knew how to smile through eyelashes tilted just so. Eve had none of these skills. Her desire for him was raging and clumsy, and she made no attempt to hide or deny it. And yet, no evidence of her desire for him would be enough to satisfy him, he was insatiable.

At first he though he merely needed to take her to bed, but even after he had bedded her, his desire did not abate. It was a need he was not entirely in control of, and it was an uneasy feeling. Which is why he did not step aside when he should have, when it became clear that he and Alistair both wished for the same prize.

Instead, he forced the Warden to make a choice, and was utterly shocked when she chose him.

He leaned against the railing of the ship headed to Denerim, the salt wind in his face, and wondered why. Eve was underneath, in their cabin. She had been sick the entire trip, unable to even come to the deck and watch the lovely ocean.

Zevran was glad they were returning to the forests. It was clear Eve would be content nowhere else. And yet she'd offered to stay with him in Antiva, or anywhere else he wished to go. She'd offered to lay down the mantle she'd worn for so long, to no longer be his fearless leader, but rather his companion. _How strange, _he thought, _and how very novel. _

Denerim approached, a sunken and muddy city, and they inched closer to it.

Eve nearly kissed the dock, so grateful was she to be back on dry land. Instead she took a deep breath of the warm Ferelden air and realized it did smell just a little like wet dog.

They attracted stares in the marketplace, two heavily armored elves outfitting themselves for what looked to be a long journey. Eve's clan usually spent the summers in the northern forests, not far from Amaranthine.

Why they did not simply dock in Amaranthine, Zevran did not know. He only knew Eve wished to avoid that place, that her face closed on itself when he mentioned it. So they would walk from Denerim instead.

When Zevran stopped in the Gnawed Noble tavern, where the bartender usually kept a discreet supply of poisons under the counter, he was waylaid by an enthusiastic voice and a hug that nearly knocked him over.

The force of the hug came from the slender figure of a certain Orlesian bard.

"Zevran! It is so good to see you again," she said.

"Ah, Leliana. You are as lovely as ever," he replied.

"Always the charmer. But you have been gone a long time. Come and have a drink with me, you must have stories to tell."

Zevran climbed into a booth across from her, a smile playing across his lips. It was never a bad thing to be waylaid by a beautiful woman.

"I did not expect you to still be in Denerim," he said.

"The Ferelden summers agree with me," she said. "Not nearly so hot as Orlais or Antiva, wouldn't you agree?"

"It does get rather heated in Antiva this time of year," he said. "Our women compensate by removing clothing. It is a tradition I wish to spread."

"In the Chantry, we learn to accept what we cannot change, and bear the heat with grace and faith," said Leliana. She had taken to answering Zevran's more risqué comments with tales from the Chantry.

"You bear it gracefully indeed," he said. "Has the sun made your hair lighter? I find it entrancing."

"You can flatter me all you like," she said. "I will not stop you."

"Ah, permissive indeed," he said. "I wonder what else you would not stop me from doing."

"What brings you back to Denerim? You left in quite the hurry."

"It is as you said, my dear. The Antivan summers are simply too hot."

"I have heard rumors of you," she said. "That you have become a Master of the Crows. I wonder if you aren't here for business as well as to escape the heat."

"I can honestly say I am not," he said.

Eve chose that moment to stride into the tavern.

"I should have known not to leave you alone," she said to Zevran. "You have already found a beautiful woman and a cold ale."

Leliana leaped up and hugged the warden. "It is so good to see you," she said. "Come, sit with us. It has been ages since we've talked."

Eve sat across from Zevran, cautious. Although they'd been journeying together for a week, she had not come near him since he'd woken up in the forest meadow. She seemed wary, and lonesome, and he had not wished to breach the distance she seemed to need.

Leliana acted as though she did not notice the tension that passed between the two rogues.

"I do hope you will be staying in Denerim for some time," she said. "Perhaps we can go shopping together! I saw the most lovely dress the other day—you simply must buy it!"

**Author's note: **thank you to everyone who reviewed or added this story to your favorites! You make me keep writing!


	8. Chapter 8

Leliana beseeched the two elves to stay in Denerim, but Eve refused. They camped instead just outside the city, after saying goodbye to the bard.

Something about Denerim had upset Eve, made her pale and silent, eyes haunted. Zevran watched her and wondered. It was not like her to keep secrets from him. It had always been Alistair she'd protected, not him.

When they went to assassinate the ambassador in Orzammar for the Crows, she had sent Alistair to shop for armor. When they returned to Denerim to receive their payment, she sent him into the city in search of cheese. When Arl Eamon had suggested putting the inexperienced Warden on the throne, she had gone instead to save Anora.

And when they were in Fort Drakkon, Alistair told him and the others, she went without a fight to be tortured, as long as they spared him.

Zevran, on the other hand, followed her everywhere. She never once left him in camp or sent him on an errand so he might not see the darker side of being a Warden. He'd thought this possessiveness, this protectiveness, meant she loved Alistair. And he was jealous.

He'd thought, when he slunk off to Antiva, she would naturally turn to Alistair, and comfort would turn to love. And perhaps she had. Sitting by the fire, across from her, the thought of the tall, broad shouldered Warden seemed intolerable. And before he could stop himself, he spoke.

"What did you do while I was in Antiva, dear Warden? Surely you have tales to tell."

"I killed darkspawn," she said.

"With Alistair by your side, of course," he said, a little bitterness in his tone.

"Of course."

"And in your bed?" He could not help the jealousy that chilled him even sitting so close to the fire.

"You don't trust me at all, do you?" she replied. Her tone was cold, sad.

"You have always been a sensible, pragmatic creature," he said. "Alistair can offer you much that I cannot. And you care for him. That has always been clear."

"I care for everyone who fought the blight by my side."

"But not how you cared for Alistair. You would have let the whole of Redcliffe perish while we journeyed to the Circle Tower, so that he would not have to see harm come to those he regarded as family."

"They did not perish," she said, but Zevran's remark stung nevertheless. He had never questioned her decisions before.

"You went to Amaranthine for Alistair." Ah, there was the heart of his anger. He had thought that betrayal buried, past, but here it was, making him want to hurt the Warden, see her weak, sorry.

"I went to Amaranthine for the Wardens," she said. She did not raise her voice, but her tone was steady and harsh in a way that belied the natural softness of her Dalish accent.

"And when you got there, and found yourself alone, and Alistair so caring and near?"

It would be a lie to say Eve had never thought of seeking comfort with Alistair. When Zevran left she was lost for a time, as she had been in the Deep Roads, always in darkness, always cold. She had fought the loss by training, embracing emptiness and sadness until she could turn it into cold thrusts of steel and the perfect evasive acrobatics of her body.

"Your bed was certainly never empty," she said. "Why should it matter if I slept with Alistair, or anyone?"

"I don't know," he said, entirely honest. Why should it matter indeed? He was not there, and he was certainly never alone in Antiva.

"Zevran," she said, "I never asked you to be faithful." Her tone was soft, gentle. "But I always thought you would be loyal."

"I will be," he said. "And for the little it's worth, I am sorry I left."

"I never slept with Alistair," she said. "Anyway, he met a lovely elven sorceress who reminded him very much of Morrigan, so much so that he had no eyes for me."

Zevran chuckled, remembering the hatred the witch and the templar harbored for each other.

"I have always wondered why it was you chose me. You could have had Alistair or any other number of handsome men at your disposal, and yet you chose very unwisely."

Eve let her eyes roam over that face, both familiar and exotic, the curves of his tattoos running down his cheeks like gentle brushstrokes, so unlike the intricate webbing that covered her own face. His eyes, golden and flickering with the firelight, met her own.

"You are the sun," she said to him. "You are light, and warmth, and when I am near you I am alive."

It was a fluid motion then, the graceful muscles of a cat stretching to lengths that seemed almost impossible, as Zevran crossed the distance between them in a single stride, knocking the warden to the ground beneath him. Her long hair spread in the dust, a few strands caught between them. The way he sprang at her was passion, but the way he tenderly brushed away those strands was love.

He sought her lips, then, and kissed them, and it was as though all the times he had been with her before were gone and she was as new as an unexplored forest, as mysterious and as compelling. He pulled at her armor with a desperate urgency, his usual aloof finesse gone. And, though he knew the fastenings of a suit of armor as well as his own body, his fingers stumbled and grasped.

She too was lost in him, the firelight behind him illuminating his hair, a halo around his head. She plunged delirious fingers into the golden waves, to pull him closer. He had never seemed more beautiful than he did now, eyes narrow with desire, as they covered her body in their burning gaze, and her flesh turned to fire where they touched.

She pulled away his armor and lay back on her elbows to regard him. He knelt over her, naked, with the firelight behind him, and she knew she was not wrong. He was indeed the sun, and her time in Amaranthine had been merely a long night, and now came the dawn, breaking like waves over her as his hands ran from thighs to breasts to flowing hair.

She was the one who pulled him down, who guided him to her secret warmth, and as sunlight warmed her with each kiss and caress, Zevran found her warm and tight around him, endlessly gentle and perfect. He was the dawn, and he was home.

**Author's Note:** This is all for now, though I might continue this story later. I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you to everyone who reviewed or added it to favorites!


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